


Sleep, my tarnished silver.

by LexandAves



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Grieving, Thor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexandAves/pseuds/LexandAves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking down upon the body of his now deceased brother, Thor has no care for the fact that the future king of Asgard should not be seen grieving by its citizens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep, my tarnished silver.

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble was inspired by the song 'Tarnished Silver', by Heather Dale. It is not an accurate depiction of how the Norse handled death, but was written purely as an emotional piece, so I hope that you will be able to overlook my inaccuracies.  
> Thank you for reading.

Looking down upon the body of his now deceased brother, Thor has no care for the fact that the future king of Asgard should not be seen grieving by its citizens.

Loki does not look like a man who has been murdered. Someone has been busy, his body and clothes now clean of the blood which once stained them and his helmet now neatly placed upon his brow. With his eyes closed and arms clasped across his chest, the once prince of Asgard has taken on a peaceful appearance. The coals that once glowed red within his soul have been extinguished, and now it is as though he is merely sleeping.

If he is, he will not awaken in this life time.

Thor turns over the dagger he holds in his hands, the very one that Loki had put between the ribs of the beast who killed him, now shining clean and bright in the golden hue that permeates the room. With the gentlest of movement he can muster, Thor slides the handle of the blade beneath his brother’s clasped hands.

No warrior should be sent to Valhalla without his weapon by his side.

His hand comes to rest on his Loki’s arm. This will be the last time that he will see his brother, the last time he will see him as he truly is before the stories and legends convert him into the man he never was. All the good, the evil, the ambiguity that made up his soul will be nothing but caricatured tale told at feasts, later to be lost to the ever eroding sands of time. How is he to let go, knowing all the memories that he is leaving behind?

Because one day the memories will fade. He won’t remember the smooth sound of his voice, each sharp contour of his face or the way his magic shimmered in the air when cast. His brother will be a distant spectre of his youth, a brief flash of life he once shared in the eons of his own lifetime. How can he hope to carry on knowing what is to come?

Yet he must. Whatever wrongs Loki had committed, whatever differences the two of them once shared, his brother has died to save him. Now he must spend his life striving to be worthy of that sacrifice, no matter how much his sadness and grief pains him to do so. It is the last offering he can make to his fallen brother, the only one that truly matters now.

Thor kneels down beside the altar and leans in close. His lips graze the cold forehead of his brother, a gesture of thanks and of love that comes far too late for them both. In a quiet voice, one that would not be heard by the most intent of listeners, Thor offers up his final message. One last prayer before they are separated forever:

“Sleep, my tarnished silver.”


End file.
